part two of Steve's interrogation coming right up! I hope you enjoy this chapter, I really loved writing it and delving into the mindset of certain characters. would be really grateful if you could comment and review your thoughts and feedback on this, as I hope I have conveyed the characters in the way I was hoping to! really excited for the next few chapters too as we end the season, and what this means for our favourite oblivious pair!
as always, thank you for reading, especially those of you who always comment - it means so, so much to me and I couldn't keep going without you!
"I AM NOT BENT!"
A silence falls over the room at Steve's desperate declaration.
Liz closes her eyes, chewing her bottom lip as to not cry at the agony on his face.
She has never seen him so distressed. Irritated, disappointed and upset, many times. But this was so much more. And it was tearing her apart. What can she do?
She wants to believe him. She does. More than anything.
Steve Arnott was an idiot, but he was not a murderer. She knows it, in her heart.
But the evidence - it was formidable.
Even if he was being set up, as he says, there were no other leads. Sure, he had tried to point the finger at Dot but that was just a petty attempt to take the blame off himself.
Without another lead or suspect, especially one with as much evidence against them as Steve currently, there is little they could do to help him.
Either way, there is nothing she can do.
Slowly pulling out her notebook as to not catch the attention of anyone in the room, who sits silently staring at one another, Liz places it on her thigh below the table. Pulling a pen from the top of the desk without anyone seeing, she flips the notepad open to a clean page, beginning to make a table - guilty/not guilty - noting things damning irregular Steve, or anyone else, has mentioned. The car theft, Dot's accused misconduct (despite her resistance to believe it was anything more than petty), the gun record irregularities - anything that could lead to something.
Liz may not be able to help, but she cannot live with herself if she does not try.
Hastings sighs, interlocking his fingers, "This is obviously a very… difficult experience, Steve. Would you like some time alone with your solicitor?"
"No," he says, swallowing.
"Your counsellor?" Liz hears herself speak, quietly, all eyes in the room turning to her.
She hides the notebook under the table as her cheeks flush under their gazes, feeling the heat most fervently from Steve. His eyes soften before hardening, his jaw clenching.
"No."
His gaze snaps away from her, back to the three other investigators.
Liz slackens, wanting to hide. Or better than that; run. She could just leave. There was no need for her to be there, especially against Steve's apparent wishes. But she wants to be there for him. To find out the truth. Whether he wants her to or not.
The notebook remains open.
She can feel Dot, Kate and Ted staring at her, undoubtedly sympathetic. But she will not give in to that. She is working.
"Very well," Hastings says, sending a wary look to the wavering young woman at the end of the table, before glaring back at the young man opposite, "But can we all just... calm down here and not let our emotions get the better of us."
Steve takes a gulp out of his glass of water, while Liz studies him, carefully.
His eyes are glossed over. There is sweat on his brow. The tips of his ears are reddened.
This was all so unfair.
"So, moving on," Hastings declares, "In respect of another murder, that of Sergeant Daniel Waldron, have you any comment to make?"
"Waldron was murdered by Hari Baines," Steve states, truthfully as far as Liz was aware, "Baines confessed and he intends to plead guilty."
"Yeah, well, Baines owed gambling debts to the wrong people," Dot says, "And we believe they contracted him to kill Waldron."
"Significantly, Baines received a call the night of the 31st May from a phone of the type found in your car. Right before he shot and killed Danny Waldron."
"According to Baines, in a statement made on June 30th, the caller had a London slash southeast accent," Dot explains, Steve watching him, curiously.
"So?"
"So, was that you?"
Steve scoffs, sarcastically, "London and the southeast have such small populations it can only have been me?"
"Can you just answer the question please, DS Arnott?" Hastings exasperates.
"Baines and I met loads of times. He would've known my voice and been able to identify. The call was clearly made by another person unknown."
"Yes, and you're familiar with the putative corrupt police officer, codename The Caddy," Hastings says.
Liz shivers.
Everyone in the room watches Steve, silently and expectantly, apprehensive of his response.
Steve looks between them, his gaze falling on each of them. He stares longingly at Liz who strains to hold his eye, though blankly. She can see the realisation settle in. The waver in his gaze and clench of his jaw.
He now knows what they are implying. He now knows she already knows. He now knows that is why she, and everyone, has been avoiding him.
He swallows, looking back to the Superintendent, "I am."
"DI Cottan," Ted invites.
"Sir, assimilation of all credible witness testimony based on direct contact with said individual leads to the following profile; The Caddy is male, almost certainly from a working class background and grew up in an urban environment, probably under 35, almost certainly a detective, trained in covert operations such as counterterrorism and all ear witnesses report The Caddy as having a London or southeast accent."
Steve bitterly chuckles, raising his shoulders and shaking his head, "This is insane."
"God help me, son, I wish it was," Ted says, lowly.
Liz watches him, gut lurching uneasily. She had heard the profile before, even considered it to be true when Dot first told her at her flat. But now, with Steve sitting across from her, it just doesn't fit.
The similarities are uncanny, yes. But Steve Arnott? A criminal mastermind? It makes no sense.
"Sir? That's your evidence?" Steve says, bitterly, pointing to the screen sharing the profile.
Liz makes a note.
"Oh, we have more than just a profile," Dot says, "Only The Caddy would have had access to the same sorts of bribe money found at Lindsay Denton's house, the same supply we found some of in your service vehicle boot."
Liz holds back a such as she crosses through her note.
Steve's solicitor leans over, whispering something inaudible to the man. Liz cringes, knowing that to not be a good sign.
Everyone waits for Steve to respond as his solicitor leans back into his seat. The man says nothing, only looks down to the desk, disappointedly.
"Would you like some more time, DS Arnott?" Ted asks.
"No."
Liz lets out a breath, only to immediately suck it in again when Steve glances up at Dot and begins speaking again.
"DI Cottan originally volunteered to investigate The Caddy and closed the case prematurely based on flimsy evidence provided by an old colleague," Steve asserts.
Liz wishes he would let such a desperate attempt at blame-deflecting go. It was only making things worse for him.
"Yes," Hastings shakes his head slightly, "But we are not here to discuss DI Cottan."
"Sir, he's just looking at some angles trying to discredit this investigation," Dot says, tense.
"I intend to be heard, sir," Steve demands, speaking over the other man, "On the record."
Liz snaps her head to Hastings, seeing him already looking at her with a brow raised. He's asking for her opinion. She nods, eyes pleadingly wide.
"Very well," Ted says, "That's your right."
Dot looks to her, eyes widening himself before chuckling humorlessly and leaning back in his seat with his arms folded.
Steve turns to face him, his elbows on the table and hands together, "DI Cottan, you carried out the original inquiry into The Caddy."
"I did."
"That wrongly identified DC Jeremy Cole."
"Yes," he responds, another glance to Liz who looks at him apologetically, also taken back by Steve's harshness but eager to hear him out.
"Based purely on testimony of your former colleague DC Nigel Morton."
Liz blanches, having not known that before.
Ted cuts in, "Yeah, but Morton has since revised his statement. DI Cottan and DC Fleming are reopening that particular inquiry."
Steve hesitates, then begins again, "You also failed to order a second post-mortem on the body of Rod Kennedy."
"My email bounced back, as well you know," Dot defends, voice laced with nonchalance, "Sir, he's clutching at straws here."
Liz curiously listens, knowing that was likely as it had happened to her numerous times when trying to communicate with various clients and organisations. She makes a note of it anyway.
Steve continues, "In respect of the original inquiry into the murder of Sergeant Danny Waldron, you led a search of Waldron's flat."
"I did."
"And as part of that search you found an envelope addressed to me."
"Yes."
"And the forensics that you failed to carry out on the inside of that envelope detected traces of ink and blood suggesting it contained a note written by Danny Waldron and presumably intended for me."
"No note was ever found," Dot argues, "Danny Waldron saved his list online."
"Which we only discovered weeks later because you failed to pursue this lead!"
"I did not."
"The note had been in that envelope!" Steve shouts, his frustration at the man boiling over.
"That's not what was in the envelope!" Dot shouts back, losing his composure for the first time.
Liz looks at him, then. Her fingers clutch desperately around her own on her lap where she had been making notes. Her eyes then move past him to Kate who is watching both men, surprised. It seems neither Kate nor Ted are aware of whatever this evidence is. What was in there?
"Item reference MRC1," Dot announces, an image of the envelope appearing on screen, "is the envelope recovered from Danny Waldron's flat. And for the tape, Mr Arnott is quite correct, it does bear his name."
Liz glances over at Steve, seeing him stare at the image, eyes wide in confusion.
"Item reference MRC2," Dot continues, "is the content of the envelope. Now, this item was entered into evidence separately for reasons of internal security."
What?
Liz's heart beats rapidly.
"You will see in your folders document appendix one, refers to sequestered evidence. Sequestration of evidence was authorised by Gill Biggeloe, leading legal counsel to anti-corruption unit 12."
Steve reaches hurriedly for the folder in front of him, turning the pages hastily to see whatever it is Dot is referring to. Liz does the same, though she hesitates turning the page, anxious about what she will see.
"This," Dot says, holding up a clear bag with a small object inside, "is what was found inside the envelope."
Liz's heart stops.
A golf tee. The Caddy.
She can hear Kate sigh from across the table, looking over to see the woman hang her head and throw her pen down onto her own notepad.
Ted is watching Steve closely, his own eyes wide with betrayal.
It seems, if there was any doubt in their minds before Steve was guilty, their minds were set now.
Liz, however, is still overwhelmed with thoughts. She struggles to single any out and concentrate on it long enough to form any cohesive conclusion on how to feel.
Dot glares fixated over the table to Steve, still holding up the bag for emphasis, "Now, for the tape, I'm showing Mr Arnott sequestered evidence, a white golf tee."
Steve's mouth hangs open, his face otherwise blank as he looks at the object. Liz wills him to do something, anything that will indicate to her this is all one big pile of bullshit. He doesn't. Only stares.
"Steve Arnott. Golf tee," Dot states, placing the bag down and leaning back, "I think Danny Waldron was trying to tell us something."
Even then, Steve remains still.
"Have you got anything further to add, DS Arnott?" Ted says, his voice unnervingly calm as his mind is made up on his apparent guilt.
Steve hesitates, then shakes his head.
"For the tape, the interviewee is shaking his head," Kate sighs, sending a worried glance over to the other woman who stares forlornly at the man.
Liz closes the notebook, believing it to be over. Her chances are low. So what was the point?
"Steven Arnott, you will remain under arrest for the murder of Lindsay Denton," Hastings raised voice to say, though he refuses to look the younger man in the eye, "I will now seek guidance from the crime prosecutor as to how to charge you for said offense. You will be taken to a place of custody. If you are not charged within the first 24 hours of the original arrest you will be released. However, I will seek the authority for a 12 hour extension. Is all this understood?"
"Yes, sir," Liz hears Steve whisper, as she looks away to her lap, too upset and angry to look at him.
"Interview discontinued."
Liz risks a look up at him as the three investigators begin to move around the room, saving the recording and filling out forms, doing their utmost to also avoid looking at their friend. An armed officer steps forward to place a hand on Steve's shoulder, urging him to stand. Steve does so, timidly, though as they begin to place the handcuffs around his wrists, he turns to her.
Their eyes meet.
"Do you really think I could do this?" he mutters, voice breaking as he does so.
Her mouth opens, though no words are able to force their way out above the sobs rising in her throat.
Before she has the chance to say something, if she Even could, he is led away. His eyes remain on her until he is out of the room, the door swinging closed behind him.
She sniffs, unable to move from her chair out of fear her legs will collapse. Her hands are shaking, as are her shoulders.
A hand places itself on her shoulder, much like the officer had just done with Steve. It feels cruel. Looking up, her eyes wide and brimmed with tears, she sees Dot look down at her, brow furrowed in concern.
"I'm sorry," he says, as he had said many times to her before.
Looking past him, she sees Hastings and Kate looking at her with the same… pity.
It boils her blood.
Standing from her chair, Liz ducks out of Dot's grasp and runs to the door. Swinging it open she hurries out, ignoring the looks she receives from the desks as she passes, frenzied.
Liz is unsure where her body is taking her, but she assumes it is after Steve. She has to talk to him. And say what? She does not know. But she needs to. It can't be left like this. With him feeling as though she has betrayed him. Abandoned him. She could never do that. Never.
Even with all the evidence mounted against him, she refuses to believe it. She can't. How can she? She knows him. Better than anyone. Even himself.
They have been friends for years. All of that, a lie? No.
Perhaps he had conned them, and been playing a game all this time. But even if only some of it were true, those small moments of genuine kindness and goodness, she cherished it. And it was worth fighting for.
Steve was there for her when no one else was. And Liz owed him to return the favour.
As she had always said, some people do not have a choice. They need help, another option. Throughout her professional career Liz aimed to work towards that. If Steve is, in any way, involved in this, he deserves that same courtesy.
He needs to know.
She believes him.
The evidence was damning. Accusing Dot was far-fetched. He has been stupid enough to play into all their hands.
He is an idiot. But he is not, as it seems everyone else believes, capable of such atrocities. He can't be.
It was impossible to say he was incapable of hurting anyone. He had, unwittingly, hurt her many times. But never through blackmail or threats - or murder.
Siding with Steve was a risk. Both professionally and personally.
Her three other closest friends believe him to be guilty, and were, in fact, the ones doing their best to convict him.
But Steve Arnott is her friend. And he is worth the risk.
She finds herself running, desperate to catch him and the officers before they leave the office and it is too late.
Liz almost skids to a halt as she nears the lift.
Her heart breaks.
The doors are closed, the lift dinging to indicate it has already descended.
She hastily presses the button to hail it, hoping to catch him in the reception lobby downstairs.
"Liz!"
She presses the button again, then a few more times impatiently.
"Liz!"
She turns this time, seeing Kate moving over to her, concern etched all over her features.
"I need to talk to him," Liz defends, determinedly, knowing what the woman is going to say, then turning back to hit the button again.
"Liz…"
"No, Kate!" she whips around, glaring at the other woman who just looks back at her, troubled, "This isn't right! You know it!"
Kate looks to her feet, "I'm just worried about you, mate."
"Me?" Liz points a finger into her chest, regretting her harsh tone but unable to control it, "I'm not the one we just sent away in handcuffs!"
"The evidence-"
"I don't care about that evidence!" Liz shouts, knowing she probably sounds stupid and that all the office is likely listening in but too emotional to care, "He's our friend. We haven't done enough. I would rather make a fool of myself than let him rot in a cell under false accusations."
Kate only sighs, putting her hands in her trouser pockets.
Liz takes a breath, the cool air composing her. She looks at Kate, determinedly, "I am going to get to the bottom of this. Are you going to help me or not?"
Kate chews her lower lip, then nods.
Liz nods too, emboldened by Kate's clear continued doubt. If she truly believed him to be guilty, she would not be offering to help.
"Here," Liz says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her notebook, "Take this. I am not an investigator so don't have the knowledge or means you do. But please, for me…"
Kate looks down at the notebook as she takes it, flipping the pages slightly to get an idea of the content, before looking back up to the woman with a blazing look, "I'll look into it."
Liz places a hand on the other woman's arm, smiling slightly in relief and appreciation for her friend, "Thank you."
Kate smiles back, then turns on her heel to head for her desk and make a start on Liz's list.
Liz sighs, wiping under her eyes at the wetness that has pooled there and likely smudged her mascara. She feels a renewed sense of assurance overtake her, now that Kate has agreed to at least consider the possibility of Steve being framed, as he had suggested. She feels less alone. Less overwhelmed.
Making a start for her own desk, she sees Dot leaving Hastings' office.
He stands there for a moment, straightening his tie, then catches her eye across the room. She waits for him to approach, feeling slightly embarrassed she had run away from him like she had, offering him a tight-lipped smile in assurance when he reaches her.
"You ok?" he asks, "That must have been tough."
Liz hums, nodding, remembering the image of Steve in handcuffs being led away by armed police, sending her a dark glare, "Yeah, just- Never thought I would see him in that position."
Dot sighs.
"What was all that about?" Liz asks him, wanting to take the attention off herself and gesturing with her head to Hastings' office where she now sees Gill Biggeloe walk out and to the office exit, a sour look on her face.
The man shakes his head, dismissively, "Nothing. Just a slap on the wrist for using evidence I hadn't yet proposed to him."
Liz nods, assuming he is referring to the golf tee. Why hadn't he presented arguably the most damning piece of evidence supporting his accusation of Steve being The Caddy to the Superintendent before the interview?
Before she can ask, Dot loosens his tie, "How about I drop you back? It's getting late."
Liz looks to her watch, seeing it is now in fact almost 10.
"Yeah, saves me a cold walk home," Liz says, her heart panging at the memory of being followed, but beating that down as there was so much else to worry about now, "Thank you."
"No worries," he grins, though it lacks some of the usual charisma, instead replaced by sadness at what has happened, "I just need a whizz quick."
"Charming," Liz scoffs, watching him chuckle cheekily at her and move past her.
Job done.
His fingers shake as he types the text.
He lets out a shaky breath as they hover over the keys.
And so am I.
It's a risk, he knows it.
But his life has been at risk from the moment he took that fucking job at the golf course as a teenager.
He breathes in deeply through his nose, closing his eyes for a moment as he contemplates pressing send.
Just do it, his head growls at him, Send the bloody thing. Let it be over.
But it will never be over.
Though, he has already had the courage to have written the text. Just one more press of a key and he has a chance. A chance at this all being over.
But it will never be-
Before he can convince himself any more against it, his thumb pushes the button. His eyes remain closed until he hears the notification.
They slowly peel open, seeing the small icon reveal it is done.
He should feel relieved. He should relax.
But he can't.
Done? It is anything but.
He leans back slightly where he perches on the toilet seat, unable to look anywhere but fixated on the phone.
Shit.
He stands, taking off the back of the phone and removing the sim card. Pulling out some toilet roll from the holder, he wraps it tightly inside, hesitating before throwing it into the toilet bowl. He flushes, watching as it swirls before disappearing down the pipe, out of sight. Though, not out of mind.
He braces himself against the stall for a moment, back leaning against one side with his arms outstretched onto the other.
He breathes, hoping no one has entered the room since to hear the heaviness of it.
With one final breath, he straightens, swinging open the door - only to be confronted with the mirror image of himself.
And he hates it.
He feels sick.
Look at you. Pathetic.
He tears his eyes away, stumbling over to the sinks where he once again has to brace himself to remain steady, otherwise scared he will collapse.
He risks another glance at the mirror.
He does not just see himself this time.
He repulses.
Lindsay Denton stares back at him. Blank. Betrayed. Bloodied. From the gun shot wound he inflicted.
He shakes his head. She does not relent. Instead, she continues to glare.
He can't look away.
This is how he will be, now. Haunted. By her, by those out to get him, by what he has done - all of it.
He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut. Willing her to leave him alone. Even just for a moment so he can think through his next move.
Precariously opening them, his stomach sinks as he realises he is once again alone. But she lingers, burned behind his eyelids. She will stay there forever. It all will.
He reaches an unsteady hand forward to turn on the tap, threading some fingers through the cold water, shuddering at the chill of it.
What has he done?
He leans forward, bending so he can cup some of the water.
What is he doing?
He brings his hands to his face, feeling the coolness splash his heated cheeks.
What will he do?
He sighs as the water drips from his cheeks, though the sound comes out strangled like a sob.
He stands again, his eye avoiding the cruel reflection in front of him. Placing a hand over his mouth to beat back any cries, he struggles to determine whether the wetness under his eyes is from the tap or tears.
All those things he has lost, and for what? All those things he will continue to lose...
Liz.
He wants to scream just thinking about her.
She will want to help. He knows she will.
And he needs help.
He should talk to her. Tell her the truth. He owes her that.
But how can he?
How can he admit all the awful things he has done?
That he has lied to her, that he has manipulated her.
No.
She was the most understanding and forgiving person he had ever met. But how could she understand and forgive all that?
No one can forgive him. Especially not himself, and not even her.
What will she think of him?
Since when did you care? he bitterly berates himself.
Always, he supposes, Since the moment we met.
He had instantly been attracted to her, all those years ago. How could he not be? She was beautiful. But most of all; she cared and she listened.
No one else had. Even his own wife hadn't bothered to. It means a lot to a person when they feel they have no one else to turn to. That's what made her so good at what she did.
He had treated his wife badly, he can admit that now. The secrets and the deceit and the drinking and the gambling and the shouting - it was a mess. Even from a young boy, when he was first recruited by... them... he had not had a healthy relationship with anyone. His parents were drunks, his employers criminals and his friends - well, he had none. He had thought they were his friends. But no. They were using him. It took him so long to realise it. Only now did he realise what a huge fucking mess he has been forced into.
In a way, he supposes Liz may be the first healthy relationship he has had with anyone. And even then, he fears it is corrupted; based on manipulation and lies on his part. How different was it really from anyone else? With him deceiving her from the beginning? Using her for his own gain?
He wants it to be different.
Is it?
Back when they first met, he had been as honest with her as he believes he could without arousing suspicion of his criminal links. He opened up to her; about his marriage and addiction.
He would go along with the heckling she endured at TO-20, wanting to fit in, though honestly struggled to find Morton's attacks as amusing as the man would believe his actions to be. Again, he guesses, it shows how much he has always cared about others' opinions of him.
Even as a lad, he always felt the need to prove himself. Desperate for some sort of validation from someone, anyone. They had tried to beat it out of him over the years, hardening his shell, but wasn't that why he got wrapped up in all this shit in the first place? Because he wanted someone to be proud of him? To care?
Liz cares.
When he met her again as he joined AC-12 last year, he felt it again. That little something. The feeling of wanting her to care.
And she did, seemingly. She supported him, reassured him, Hastings even told him she had been the one to convince the others, Steve in particular, he would be a great addition to the team.
His heart lurched just thinking about it.
But even that was cruel. Tarnished into stabbing pain by the fact he had lied to her all this time.
In the beginning, at least, he had wanted to use her, finding the way little-Arnott would almost shake with jealous rage whenever they spoke. Eventually it became him wanting to turn her against Arnott to make the man hurt as things began to fall in place. Making mistake after mistake, Arnott was playing into his hands. And he knew how much Liz meant to the man, and him her. Everyone could see it. For Arnott to suffer and take the blame, he needed to convince Liz more than anyone else. So he manipulated her. Tried to turn her against the other man. To get her to play into his hands.
He doubts it has worked. She still seems convinced Steve is innocent, despite his best attempts - and, of course, she is right. She was on his side, but not fully.
That wasn't what bothered him about it.
It bothered him that she was possibly only caring for himself because she thought it the right thing to do. Not because she wants to.
But he wants Liz to.
Things had developed, feelings had changed. This was about so much more than manipulation or validation. She cares for him. Likes him, even. And he... how did he feel about her? He cares for her and likes her, too. The thought of it begin anything more than that scares him. Because that's what he wants. Truly. More than anything besides all this coming to an end and him being free.
The two of them - it wasn't real and it couldn't be.
Could it?
It is pathetic, really. It makes him weak. He hates himself for it.
He had given in to the weakness the other night. After killing Lindsay and covering up the evidence, he found himself stumbling to her flat. He just could not help himself.
And she had worried about him. Actually worried about him.
His nerves had almost given out when she noticed the blood on his collar. He was a fucking idiot for not noticing it himself. But being caught out is not what scared him. Her reaction to knowing is what had his heart leaping into his throat, choking him.
He shouldn't have gone to her flat. He shouldn't have seen her. He shouldn't have been that weak.
But there is just something about her. Something that tempts him to spill it all.
The same thing that had him torn apart now, stronger than ever.
She has thawed his heart, that he tried so hard to numb, with her smile alone. And he wants to be better. Be the man she thinks he is.
But he can't. How can he?
He should come clean. tell her everything. Surely, that is the only way this is going to work.
But he can't. How can he?
He can make things right.
But he can't. How can he?
He doesn't want Liz hurt. But she already is. Because of him. And she doesn't even know it.
It is unfair. It is cruel. It is all his fault.
Just as with everything else, it is ruined before it is even real. He has destroyed all chances of happiness for himself. But why?
He knows it will end badly, it has to.
No one can get away with all the things he has done. And they shouldn't.
He should suffer for this.
If anything, it is a good sign he has regrets, no?
No. No amount of conscience can save him now. It is too late.
There is no chance at redemption, no matter how badly he works for it. Even to pursue whatever this good thing was with Liz would not undo all the bad.
The way she smiles at him shatters his heart. He wants to find comfort in it, and sometimes, if he convinces himself of the delusion enough, he can. But it reminds him of all the things he cannot be for her. How he doesn't deserve to be looked at that way. It hurts. It is cruel.
Even now, just thinking about the last time she smiled and how she is likely stood just outside, waiting for him - it kills. He wants to be sick.
It would be dangerous. To keep going as they are. Especially now he has put a target above his head by backing out. He doesn't want her in danger, ever. Especially not because of him.
But she already is. In danger of heartbreak. And it is all his fault.
Would she cry? Would she shout? Would she turn her back on him completely? Would she tell the others? Or would she listen? Would she forgive him? Would she stay by his side and run with him? Why should she?
He growls lowly in his throat, his hands tightening their grip around the edge of the sink. It almost cracks under the pressure, just as he is.
"You alright?" Liz asks as Dot finally emerges from the toilets. She has been waiting outside for a while, holding both their jackets in her arms.
His face is red and wet, as if the man has splashed water over his face to cool it.
Dot looks down at her, bewildered and a little embarrassed, as he wipes his wet hands on his trousers and hastily shoves his phone into his pocket, "Oh, yeah, yeah. Just had a stressful day."
Liz hums. That was an understatement.
But no wonder he was stressed. The poor man was just put under heavy fire. Not only did he have to face up to the harsh circumstance that he was brave enough to stand up to Steve and make the accusation, but Steve had then tried turning the accusations on him. That was enough to upset anyone.
Her heart lurches as she notices his far-off, dazed look. Liz just hopes he knows he can open up to her, let out whatever it is on his mind that is troubling so much, like the other night when he had turned up to her door, almost crying.
She reaches out a hand, stepping closer and rubbing gently on his upper arm. He almost jumps, suddenly grounded by her touch. But he soon melts into it, smiling down at her, gratefully.
"Let's get you home, Queenie."